Aeternum Vale
by myopichobbit
Summary: Sirius is dead, and a careless act by Severus Snape causes Remus's world to momentarily shatter into a thousand shards as he remembers what might have been between himself and Sirius Black. (Slash, SiriusRemus.)


Aeternum Vale

by Liz

(Note: The title translates from Latin into, "Farewell Forever.")

Disclaimer: All characters mentioned are property of J.K. Rowling. I don't own any of it—yeah, like I could _totally _create characters as lovable as Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. Whatever. It's written for entertainment purposes only.

As if this is necessary… If you don't like homosexuality, you probably shouldn't be reading this.

* * *

Remus Lupin took a careful, tremulous sip from his tea, then set it down on the kitchen table. He stared across its surface at the empty chair in front of him.

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place had never been grimmer, nor darker, than it was that evening. There were dishes still sitting precariously on the countertop that had yet to be put away or washed. Bits and pieces of a lonely meal that would never be finished, a mug of something that looked suspiciously to Remus like firewhiskey that was half empty; all the signs of life that one would expect to find in a house. All that was missing was the lank, grinning figure of Padfoot, lounging against the door frame. Remus could almost hear his…

"All right there, Moony?"

So clear were those words in Remus's mind that he turned around in his chair, half expecting to see Sirius walking into the kitchen, complaining about Kreacher in an underhanded manner.

But there was no one.

Nevertheless, Remus found it all but impossible to pry his eyes away from the doorway. He felt a flush of humiliation at his own behavior instantly. _'He's gone,' _he realized grimly; one hand found its way into his graying brown tresses, where it gnarled almost painfully, as if to awaken Remus from some nightmare he had unwillingly fallen into. _'He's never coming back.'_

He took another shaking gulp of his tea, then rose to his feet. He eyed the dishes on the countertop one more time, then set about cleaning them up. Sirius wouldn't have wanted his belongings to fall into disarray just because he was unable to take care of them anymore. Despite this knowledge, he couldn't help but hesitate a second before picking up the mug of unfinished firewhiskey. He couldn't help but wonder if, _maybe, _Sirius would manage to pull off one of his death-defying stunts a second time, like he had done the night he escaped from Azkaban two years before. Maybe he would return to number twelve Grimmauld Place, and be irritated at the ineptness of his house-elf—

"Stop it," he chastised himself softly, gray eyes closing. He still could not touch the mug, and his fingers curled against themselves in his palm.

"This is ridiculous," he murmured under his breath and, brushing aside his ludicrous ideas of Sirius's great escape, he grasped the firewhiskey mug firmly by its handle and dumped the liquid down the drain. It hissed as it touched the metal, but quickly disappeared from sight.

Remus didn't know why he had forced himself to touch the dishes. He could have just as easily enchanted them to clean themselves, it wasn't a difficult charm to recite at all. But he rolled up the sleeves of his threadbare robes, tied back his gray-brown longish hair, and proceeded to clean each dish by hand. He scrubbed three-day-old grime off of the cheap porcelain plates, he tirelessly worked every remnant of stain out of the whiskey mug, and when there were no dishes left to clean, he began tidying up the rest of the kitchen, as if it were his duty by God to do so. Sirius was invariably disorganized, as Remus discovered upon opening the many cabinets and cupboards around the kitchen. Pots and pans were stacked precariously near expensive china that appeared older than Remus's grandmother; a few slender shards of glass lay shattered at the bottom of cabinets, upon inspection. He idly shook his head, smiling at the familiarity of these simple things. He remembered the state Sirius's trunk had been in before their last day at Hogwarts. His Defense Against the Dark Arts book was stored carelessly beside a negligently looked after Potions cauldron, which still seemed to be oozing some unrecognizable liquid onto the pages. They looked as if they were dissolving, very slowly.

He had been careful not to mention the hole in Sirius's favorite jeans.

Remus had not realized how long he had stood at the cabinet, idly tracing his fingers up and down the wood of the door, until he heard a voice clear itself noticeably behind him. With a start he jumped—and in doing so, knocked the crown of his head against another open cabinet door. Softly, he swore under his breath, then turned to see who his visitor was.

An expression of mild surprise had crossed his features. It was Snape.

"Hello, Severus," he said quietly.

"Lupin," was Snape's brusque, though not cruel reply. He did not move from where he stood in the doorway to Sirius Black's kitchen.

After a silent staring contest between the two which Remus had no intention of dragging on for longer than necessary, Remus turned his back to Snape and quietly closed the opened cabinets. "I wasn't expecting anyone to show up this late," he said too lightly, too cheerily, "or else I would have dressed better."

Snape gave a derisive snort that Remus ignored.

"But since you're here," he went on, taking minuscule pleasure in venting some of his penned up frustration on Snape, "you can help me straighten up. Possibly remove that horrid portrait of Mrs. Black from the corridor."

Snape curled his upper lip in distaste, but obeyed. He disappeared into the rest of the house, and Remus heard the distinct sound of silence that followed the moody Potions master wherever he went.

An hour passed, and neither of them had spoken a word to each other, nor entered the kitchen or the living room to check the other's progress. Remus was convinced that the countertop wasn't going to gleam anymore magnificently than it already was. The floors were spotless, the tabletop was cleared of anything that had once attributed itself to usage; Remus felt content with his work. Polite curiosity compelled him to check the living room.

It was fastidiously clean, as Remus had expected. Snape had bewitched a set of dusters, which were flitting swiftly around the room removing any extraneous bits of rubbish or dirt from little crevices throughout the room, while Snape himself knelt at the hearth. He was sweeping what remained of the ashes from the fireplace into a dustbin. He paused, however, when Remus lingered by the chair. Remus was sure that Snape hadn't seen him enter, but that didn't matter. Snape had always possessed the uncanny ability of knowing when someone was behind his back, when someone was watching him. He set the brush and dustbin down, straightened his back, then rose and turned, all with a significant air of subtle poise, to face Remus. His face was slightly smudged with ash, but that did nothing to smother the look of absolute contempt he saw in Snape's charcoal black eyes.

Remus attempted a smile. "It looks nice," he commented thoughtfully. "Sirius would have appreciated it."

"Would he," Snape stated in a gravely soft voice. He looked at a picture frame resting on the mantelpiece, a picture of Sirius and Remus three weeks before their graduation from Hogwarts. Remus found himself looking at it as well, temporarily caught up in the memories of graduation. All of them had been so happy, so proud… The way James held Lily's hand as they left the grounds for good, their peaceful smiles and good wishes…

The way Sirius Black had put an arm around Remus's shoulder on the train back and smiled at him so cryptically…

His reverie was distorted, then fractured as Snape, quite intentionally, tipped the picture frame over and sent it clattering to the hearthstone, where the glass shattered into a million tiny pieces.

"Reparo," Remus said immediately, instinctively, and with a flick of his wand the glass shards flew back into the frame. Then, _"Accio _picture_." _The picture flew off of the ground and into Remus's outstretched hand. He tucked it quickly into his robes and fixed Snape with a cold glare.

"I quite understand why Harry abhors you so," he remarked bitterly, "and, believe it or not, I also understand why you take out your vengeance on him. But why me, Severus? What did I _ever _do to you?"

"Nothing," Snape answered rigidly, his upper lip curling as it always did when he was irritated. His face became pale in his anger. "Absolutely _nothing,_ Lupin."

Confused, Remus opened his mouth to retort, but his words died on his lips. The apathetic, vicious expression on Snape's face did not fade. Remus knew that there was something of significance in Snape's words; he would almost admit to knowing what it was, but the sudden onslaught of misery at Sirius's absence and anger at Snape's actions overrode everything else.

"Get out," he said softly, almost weakly; he clutched the picture frame to his chest underneath his robes. "Just… get out, Severus."

Snape didn't respond for a moment. He remained stationary, staring at Remus from behind his apathetic mask. Then, forgetting his task at hand, he strode past him towards the door that led out of number twelve Grimmauld Place. At the door, he paused long enough to say, "Dumbledore asked me to inform you that he may be paying you a visit in the morning." He slipped outside and slammed the door audibly in his wake. From the hallway, he heard Mrs. Black begin to wail.

The support in his knees was gone. In agony he reached for the arm of a nearby sofa, and he crumbled beneath his own weight. Seeing that picture had brought back memories that he had never wanted to remember…

Even if it was a memory of only a few months ago.

"Damnit, Kreacher, how much rubbish are you going to store down here anyway?" Sirius demanded callously. He leaned down the stairs, grasping hold of the banister for support, and shone Remus's wand down into the boiler room. Behind him, Remus couldn't see anything other than the back of Sirius's head and the decrepit state of the basement. He kept his comments to himself.

"Ah—er—Master!" came the hoarse croak, followed by a number of incomprehensible murmurs that Remus could not distinguish; most of them caused Sirius's nonexistent hackles to rise, he was sure. "Er, Kreacher is only tidying up for you, sir, like you asked him to—"

"I asked you to throw that stuff _out,_" Sirius said pointedly. He gestured to a pile of personal artifacts of Mrs. Black, all of which Kreacher clutched to himself possessively.

"No, sir!" he begged creakily, "Kreacher wants to keep this, sir, but he'll throw it out for you's, sir, if you's truly wants, sir—"

"I's truly wants, Kreacher," Sirius responded sardonically, then, turning to head back up the stairwell, he muttered to Remus, "Nutter elf." Remus smiled halfheartedly after him and followed.

"You see that?" Sirius said as they walked into the kitchen; Remus had only just arrived from a trip on orders from Dumbledore, and any news from the _Prophet _had escaped him. However, what he glimpsed on the table was not a copy of the _Prophet_ at all, but the _Quibbler._

"Padfoot, what's this nonsense?" he asked with a small laugh, picking up the magazine and slipping into one of the chairs. He stared, nonplused for a moment, at Harry Potter's picture on the front page. Nervously, he turned his gaze to Sirius.

Sirius grinned from ear to ear. He was pouring two large mugs of firewhiskey.

Remus didn't have to be ordered to open the magazine up to the page where Harry's interview was brazenly displayed. He was shocked to find himself staring at an article written by Rita Skeeter; he hadn't seen anything by her in the papers for over a year, it seemed. Skimming it over, he could have sworn that the article actually merited some value. Casting a wary glance up at Sirius, he asked in a stern tone, "You didn't goad Harry into this, did you?"

" 'Course not," Sirius scoffed. He took a gulp of his firewhiskey, then sat the other mug down in front of Remus. "Looks like Harry did this one all of his own will."

Remus was hesitant to believe him, but he could find no fault with what he read. At least the truth was out somewhere, and now people would be able to find the information if they felt compelled.

A hand reached out and adjusted the collar of his fraying robes. Remus stopped reading without realizing it; the _Quibbler _remained in his hands, his eyes flitting over the text without comprehension. Sirius did this often, he realized, but never when anyone else was around. Remus couldn't say that he complained. In fact he enjoyed the soft touches, without words, without eye contact. If they never looked into each other's eyes, perhaps then it was not their doing it at all.

There was a spell cast between them, but there were no incantations, no words. Just the simple touch of Sirius's fingers against his collar, then upon his throat. He swallowed hard despite himself and looked up into Sirius's eyes. For a moment neither of them spoke, neither of them moved.

"Moony," Sirius began softly, uncertainly. His fingers faltered in their path.

There, it was done, the spell was broken. Remus looked aside and picked up his firewhiskey, effectively but not intentionally brushing Sirius's hand away. He brought the mug to his lips and sipped of it. He wished he hadn't; his nasal cavities cleared, and he was certain his eyes had become blood shot. How could Sirius drink that stuff down as if it were water?

The crestfallen expression vanished from Sirius's face as he watched Remus drink the firewhiskey. He smiled broadly and leaned against the table, chin resting in the palm of one hand. "Bit strong, isn't it, mate?"

"Just a little," Remus admitted, slightly hoarse. He set the mug down and quickly ducked his head to run his fingers through his hair. It felt as if his entire throat had turned into molten lava. "Cripes, Padfoot, how do you swallow that?"

Sirius laughed and stood up, walking over to the cupboard. "You're just not used to it, that's all," he said with a shrug, though he kept grinning. "Stuff's better than coffee in the morning, that's for certain."

"How much of this are you drinking on a regular basis?" Remus asked, suddenly concerned. If after one draught he himself felt the effects, then most assuredly, Sirius should…

"Don't even start with me," Sirius said, perhaps more crossly than he had intended. Remus didn't get the second half of his statement out, and was staring at the back of Sirius's head in perplexity. Sirius leaned against the cabinets momentarily, then turned around to face him. "Harry's worried about me, unless you didn't pick up on that. Thinks I'm going to do something rash—"

"I wouldn't blame him," Remus said quietly.

"—even though I _promised _him I wouldn't," Sirius went on as if he hadn't heard Remus interrupt him. "Every time ol' _Snivellus _drops by here—"

"Severus," Remus corrected again.

"—he tries to make me feel like an alienated visitor in my own house!" Sirius glared at Remus angrily and thrust his hands into his pockets. "Not to _mention _the fact that the entire Muggle and wizarding worlds think I'm a murderer… I've been lucky to scrape past this Ministry of Magic this long without being detected. How much longer do you think I'll have to last?"

They had veered entirely off topic, but Remus didn't mind. Sirius didn't look angry anymore, just very sad and lonely. Remus could relate to both feelings, as he felt that he knew both of them personally. Life as a werewolf was not pleasant.

"Until they find Wormtail," Remus heard himself answering without realizing he had spoken. "Until Peter Pettigrew is brought to trial for all the horrible crimes he's committed. Until Fudge is no longer the Minister of Magic, and until Dolores Umbridge is out of Hogwarts." He came around the table to stand beside Sirius and leaned against the countertops.

"Until people are willing to see reason, you mean," Sirius muttered bitterly.

"Pretty much," Remus answered with a grim smile. "But… it's not so bad here, is it? True, Snape isn't the most _congenial _company—and can you really blame him, Sirius?—but you also have the Weasleys, and Harry stayed with you over Christmas holidays."

"He wouldn't speak to me much," Sirius mumbled in reply. "I don't think he's even opened the present I gave him. And it's important! If those Occlumency lessons with that bastard (Remus winced.) go the wrong way, how's he going to get in touch with me if he doesn't—"

"What could you possibly do from here?" Remus asked quietly. At Sirius's betrayed glare, he reached out and touched his friend's shoulder. "He probably doesn't want to risk your getting involved. Harry is, as you said, not a child anymore. Granted, he's not an adult, but he's old enough to be able to take care of himself around Snape."

Sirius scowled and looked aside. "I still don't trust him," he mumbled moodily.

"Dumbledore does."

"Dumbledore's losing his marbles."

Remus sighed and let his hand fall to his side. "Then I don't know what to tell you," he said truthfully. "I give up, Sirius. I try to say something to give you hope and you shoot it down as if I'm the one you're angry at."

"No I don't!" Sirius immediately retorted, face alight with anger. At Remus's expression, he faltered and sighed. "I mean… not intentionally, no I don't."

"Go sit in the living room," Remus ordered with a faint smile. "I'll get dinner started."

"When do you have to leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," Remus answered, taking a sip of his tea. They sat at the kitchen table alone, listening to the droning mutter of Kreacher as he puttered about the living room. Sirius pulled a face at Remus's words, mumbling in a sullen tone, "You've only been here for two days…"

"Dumbledore says it's urgent," Remus said quietly but awkwardly and looked aside.

"Maybe I could come with—"

"No!" Remus looked at Sirius, horrorstruck. "No, you can't!" he said firmly. "Dumbledore has made it clear that you are _not _to leave the house."

"So I'll go as Padfoot," Sirius responded nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulder. "I did when we went to see Harry off, and nothing happened there."

"Nothing that you know about," Remus corrected. Unease rippled through him. There was a glimmer in Sirius's eyes that he did not like at all.

Sirius sighed in exasperation and stood up swiftly, pushing the chair back so quickly across the floor that it nearly toppled over. (Remus winced again.) "I can't _breathe _in this house, Remus," he said tensely, jaws clenching. "I want to help. Every day, everyone files in and out of my house, exchanging papers and furtive glances over my head, and no one tells me a goddamn thing. I am a member of this Order too, I'll have you know, and I want to pull my own weight, I want to _do something—_"

"Stay alive, Sirius," Remus said, and there was such an intense plea in his voice that Sirius stopped mid sentence to stare at his friend in bewilderment. Remus hesitated before continuing. "For Harry. That's what you can do."

Sirius said nothing; their eye-contact spawned another spell, but the likes of which Remus could not clearly name. In the living room, Kreacher continued moaning about the mistreatment of his mistress by her treacherous son, how he would rather take clothes than obey his orders… It didn't matter, somehow.

"Does that worry you?" Sirius asked softly, his eyes unblinking and shocked.

'How can you ask that?' Remus thought, betrayed. _'How can I **not **worry about you, about your recklessness and your complete disregard for your own health and welfare? My god, Padfoot, are you that blind?'_

"It consumes me," he whispered into the tense air between them, and only when Sirius's black eyes flickered did he realize that he had spoken the words out loud.

"It what?" Sirius asked, but his voice had lost its potency. It was a sigh, if that.

"It consumes me, Sirius," Remus repeated, rising from his chair and coming around the table. "My fear of your death for Harry's sake is always in my mind, lingering so very quietly, or crashing cymbals together to get my attention. One day, Harry will be able to _leave _the Dursleys, and he will need someone to go to for guidance and advice in the wizarding world. That someone will be you, Sirius. He will go to you, and he will be the son to you that Voldemort prevented his being to James." He grabbed Sirius by the front of his shirt and gave him a shake, causing Sirius's eyes to widen with surprise. "You are his godfather! If you die, who does he have left!"

"You."

"What?" Remus demanded incredulously, but Sirius's arms had already wrapped themselves around his back, pinioning their forms close together. Remus's heart leapt into his throat, where it seemed content to remain (beating, of course, at one thousand strokes per minute). His senses were overwhelmed by the essence of Sirius Black; his scent, the fall of his clothes, the texture of his skin as their arms brushed… Remus was sure that he could have become drunk off of it all, lost in the werewolf senses that he had so often cursed into oblivion. It was those senses that brought everything into acute detail inside of his mind, where he graphed out _why _it was that being so close to Sirius drove from his mind reason and logic.

"He has you," Sirius said softly, and Remus felt as if every nerve in his entire body had suddenly been called to attention; the slightest movement send cold chills throughout him. Sirius's eyes found his again. "If something were to happen to me, I know that he would go to you, Remus. He sees the same serenity and placidity in you that I do, and just as it does in me, it inspires him to get up and keep going, even when the shit hits the fan."

"But it would kill him to lose you."

"Then let's make sure nothing happens to either of us."

There were hands sliding up his spine, Remus felt, unsettling his shirt and simultaneously creating a new spell between them. He felt as if he were back in pre-school, memorizing things by touch, learning textures and placing names with them. It seemed so very rude for either of them to look at each other now, but Remus had no clue why. All he knew was that touch was necessary—touch and an absence of sight.

How had he known? This affection, this infatuation had dated back to his first year at Hogwarts when, spontaneously during a Potions class, Remus noted how very attractive Sirius looked while enchanting Spello-tape to cling to the back of Severus Snape's chair. Had Sirius known all this time, pretended that the attraction wasn't there for so many years, only to leap upon him now?

It didn't add up.

"Sirius," Remus interrupted the silence tremulously, pushing against his friend's chest with his hands. "Sirius, wait."

Reluctantly Sirius released him, along with a very soft, "Moony…?" that sounded so rejected and forlorn that, had Remus's inhibitions not gotten in the way, he would have willingly gone back into the embrace. He schooled his face into a mask of unconcern.

"What was that?" he demanded softly. "What… One minute we were talking about what's best for Harry, and the next you're acting as if… as if…"

A plethora of emotions played themselves out across Sirius's face in the form of one tragic grimace. Remus's words abandoned him and left him standing in the kitchen at a loss for what to say, but Sirius's expression implored him desperately.

"As if what, Remus?"

"I don't know!" Remus tore himself away from Sirius, away from the hold that his friend had on him without even touching him, and backed away so that he felt the press of the old wallpaper against his back and his head. He felt as if he'd just finished running a marathon; his breath came in quick, uneven gasps, every ounce of blood he possessed seemed to have gathered in his head, making him feel flushed and lightheaded. Across from him, bewildered and concerned, Sirius watched him.

Did he really not know?

'I can't do this,' he realized, his thoughts racing, _'I can't just… just… pretend that it's always been this way between us, I can't! I—'_

There was a crash in the living room, startling both of them, followed by the familiar, shrieking howl of Mrs. Black from the corridor ("_Worthless scum besmirching the halls of my kin, treacherous rat…_"). Kreacher gave a loud howl of pain.

"Sod all," Sirius swore under his breath and stormed out of the kitchen, shouting, "Kreacher! Put down that china set, it's _going _in the trash!" And Remus heard the distant mutter of the eccentric house-elf grouching in reply, "Mistress wants Kreacher to keep it!"

He felt rooted to the spot, unable to move. Then, with some effort, he managed to follow Sirius out of the kitchen, and for the first time in his short stay at number twelve Grimmauld Place, Remus felt grateful for Kreacher, and for the portrait of Mrs. Black.

He left the following morning with a brief and awkward farewell from Sirius, and stayed gone for over a month. Dumbledore never gave him the critical information about his assignments until meeting with him in person; said that corresponding via owl was far too risky, and Remus didn't blame him. However, leaving Sirius alone in his apartment for so many days with no company but that deplorable house-elf and a ranting, raving portrait of his dead mother planted a seed of guilt in the pit of his stomach, and so he made little excuses to drop by for a few minutes, just to "see how everything was going."

"Well enough," was Sirius's moody reply nine times out of ten. On the rare occasions when he said something different, generally it was a small "humph" accompanied by silence. Remus rarely knew what to say in these situations.

It was the end of May when Remus spent his last night in Sirius Black's house.

That night stood out in stark contrast against the other unbearably tense evenings they'd shared, where they could barely look each other in the eye without cringing or looking aside. When Remus slipped soundlessly through the front door, closed it behind him, he turned and found himself facing Sirius, who was in the process of coming down the stairs, holding a bag of dead rats in one hand. They stood and watched each other apprehensively.

Then, Sirius smiled. "Good to see you, Moony," he said softly. He looked at the bag of rats in his hand and laughed weakly. "Let me go chuck these in the bin, then I'll put the kettle on. Have a seat."

Remus smiled.

Sirius came back into the living room a few minutes later with two mugs of what Remus _hoped _was tea. He set the mugs down on the coffee table, then flopped down on the sofa and propped his head up with one hand. Strands of messy black hair fell into his eyes, and Remus couldn't help but wonder why long hair on James had always looked ridiculous, but on Sirius it looked enchanting…

"So," Sirius began quietly, "how are things?"

"Moving along smoothly enough, I suppose," Remus answered pensively. He brought one hand to his face to examine his nails in a distracted fashion. "Most of the trails Dumbledore has sent me on have turned up cold. It's a little disheartening. Voldemort is back, and yet there is no feasible evidence to put before Fudge. Until he has concrete proof, the _Prophet _is still going to depict both Dumbledore and Harry as lunatics."

"Fudge is a crackpot," Sirius muttered dismally under his breath. He took a sip of his tea. "No feasible evidence my arse. If seeing Harry hold Cedric Diggory's dead body after the tournament last year wasn't enough for the old sod, then nothing is. He's not going to give Dumbledore any leeway until he's convinced that his position as Minister of Magic isn't in jeopardy, or until he sees Voldemort with his own two eyes."

"He's putting the entire wizarding community at risk by his negligence," Remus muttered sourly. He didn't want to talk about work on his off time.

They drank quietly together. Remus wondered how many times their conversations would have to end so abruptly before either of them would breach the subject most definitely on both of their minds. He felt the color rush to his cheeks every time Sirius opened his mouth, as if he could hear the words spoken before they were even thought; he felt like a schoolboy with a crush on his peer, but wasn't that at least a little true? What he felt for Sirius Black was definitely more than just platonic friendship, more than the brotherly love it was so clear that he and James had shared during their time at Hogwarts. It had become something completely beyond Remus's control; what had once been minor physical attraction had metamorphosed into a longing, aching pang in his heart that refused to leave him.

He hoped that his eyes were not deceiving him when he glimpsed an answering glimmer of need in Sirius's eyes.

"Listen, Moony—"

"Sirius, I've been—"

Silence, and then tense laughter. Sirius gestured with one hand. "Go ahead."

'Why is it,' Remus wondered inwardly, _'that when I'm finally given the opportunity to speak my mind, nothing comes to me?' _Frustration caused his jaws to clench, unnecessarily tight, but with some effort he managed to gain control over himself again. He smiled; the action pulled at the taut muscles in his face.

"It's nothing, really," he answered evasively; his resolve to continue this conversation was fading, and quickly. He stood up more quickly than he had intended. "I was just going to turn in for the night—"

Sirius reached out abruptly and caught his hand. For a few wavering seconds Remus felt his lightheadedness return; a flood of red washed to his face as Sirius interwove their fingers together. His grip was firm and true, and even if he had wanted to, Remus could not have looked away from the intense charcoal stare he was met with upon looking into Sirius's eyes.

"Why are you doing this, Remus?" his friend asked softly, coming to his feet as he spoke. He lifted one hand to push Remus's uneven fringe out of his eyes. "What are you afraid of?"

"I-I'm not afraid of anything," Remus stammered in response.

"Then why are you shaking?"

"I'm not shaking," he insisted, but the strength in his words was lessening with each gentle touch of Sirius's callused palm against his hair and face. He closed his eyes without realizing it; it was that touching spell again.

"That," Sirius whispered with a wry smile, "is a load of bullocks."

There was no period of transition, no communication of eyes staring deeply into eyes—no declarations of love as far as Remus could tell. One minute his legs were jelly beneath him, his sole support system dependent upon his arms, which clutched tightly to Sirius's shoulders; there was warm breath against his forehead, scented by the strong, combined odors of tea and firewhiskey. The next instant there was nothing but Sirius, the essence of him, the feel of his day-old stubble gently grazing against his cheek like sandpaper as their lips met, tentatively at first, before all the passion either of them had repressed exploded in the intimacy of the touch. It had been so hard to speak to Sirius only a few days before; now it was becoming increasingly difficult not to touch him, to memorize the contours of his face and chest, to revel in the feel and taste of him. Remus uttered a soft, shuddering sigh as they broke apart.

Sirius's arms, wrapped closely around Remus's shoulders and back, only tightened as the kiss ended; his face buried itself in Remus's neck. "Come upstairs with me, Remus," he said. Remus couldn't tell whether it was a question or a fragile command, but he found himself hesitating in reply.

He managed a quavering smile for Sirius. "Are you sure we won't disturb your mother?" he asked.

Sirius winked devilishly. "That's half the fun of it, Moony."

"You exhibitionist," Remus laughed, but Sirius was already drawing him into another long, impassioned kiss, and his reservations were lost.

There wasn't a moment about that night that wasn't clearly etched in Remus's memory, not a single word, whisper, or moan that left Sirius's lips that hadn't become catalogued in that special place in Remus's heart dedicated specifically to Sirius Black.

But at the same time he wondered if Sirius would have been less insistent on following Remus to the Ministry of Magic to fetch back Harry and his companions if nothing sexual had ever happened between them. If they hadn't spent that entire night fused into one another like a single entity, if they hadn't memorized each other so completely, if they hadn't sobbed their love into each other's hair when their lovemaking reached its pinnacle… would Sirius have still come along?

Of course he would—it was inevitable, Remus knew, but the guilt still withered in him like the lingering winter. _"Sirius would have done anything for Harry, you must realize that," _McGonagall had said consolingly, but her words had only driven the barbs of self-loathing deeper into Remus's heart, clawing at him viciously. He should have been strong enough to make Sirius stay behind, should have loved him enough to say _no, _and to mean it. He had failed—as a friend and lover to Sirius, he had failed, and as a mentor to Harry he had failed as well. He had let them all down, but Harry most of all.

'Who is there for him now, Sirius?' he wondered sadly, staring at the ashes in the hearth. _'Now that you're gone, what remains of his family?'_

The answer came to him abruptly, as if Sirius himself had whispered it into Remus's ear. _You are._

Despite his sorrow, despite the empty, gaping wound in his heart… Remus found that it was less difficult to rise to his feet. It was a little less difficult for him to gather the remaining few belongings of his that remained at number 12 Grimmauld place, to pack them up for the last time. And as he paused in the doorway, looking back into the desolate building that had served as a sanctuary for his and Sirius's love for one night… it wasn't as difficult to say good-bye.

----  
Finite Incantatum


End file.
